The Lightning Letters II: Internal Affairs
by Ari Munami
Summary: It is several months since Iris discovered the truth behind the Lightning Letters. She has been writing down her findings, unaware that other forces are at work intent on undermining her. Complete!
1. Default Chapter

The Lightning Letters II: Internal Affairs.  
  
A Mystery -filled Sleuth's Idea of Heaven in 2 Parts.  
  
A/N: This is the continuation of the Lightning Letters, and if you haven't read that I would really recommend you do before its sequel, or it won't make any sense at all. Thanks, and please review!

Michael Thomas was early for work that day. He entered his office, sat down, took out his glasses and looked in despair at the pile of papers spread over his desk. Before he could even get slightly stuck in however, there was a knock on his door and his assistant Franz Hobbes stuck his head around the frame. Michael looked up.  
  
"Yes, Franz? What is it?"  
  
"Pardon me for interrupting," said Franz, "but I didn't know if you'd remembered- you've got an early appointment...Miss Rena Hepburg? She's on the Harry Potter Remembrance Society Board. She's waiting in reception. Should I let her in?"  
  
Michael took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. Not Hepburg. Not today, and certainly not this early in the morning. "Yes Franz, please do," he mumbled.  
  
A few minutes later, Hepburg was herded into his office. Michael plastered a fake happy-to-see-you smile onto his face. He noticed immediately that the woman still had the same unfortunate haircut she had had the last time he had had the pleasure of her company.  
  
"Miss Hepburg," he said cordially. "So nice to see you again. Won't you take a seat?"  
  
Hepburg sat down gingerly onto the offered chair, looking round rather disdainfully at the messy office. She clutched her large square purse to her chest as if she was afraid someone would wrestle it off her at any moment.  
  
"How can I help you today?" Michael continued.  
  
Rena got straight to the point. "I trust you have heard of an author called Iris Henderson?" she asked him.  
  
Michael leaned back in his chair, touching the tips of his fingers together. "Indeed I have," he answered. "Alan Henderson's daughter. Quite young, but has written several books already. Popular with the general public. The books are rather good, actually. I've also heard that she's been seeing quite a bit of a young man from the office- Roy Deayton. Interesting to see what she'll get up to in the future."  
  
Miss Hepburg was trembling with pent-up emotion. "I already know what she's getting up to," she said passionately.  
  
"Really?" said Michael. "Anything of note?"  
  
"She's investigating who wrote the Lightning Letters."  
  
"Really. That's ambitious of her. I wonder if she's made any headway with it yet. I'll have to ask Roy..."  
  
Rena burst in. "She believes she HAS made headway, Mr Thomas! That's what I'm trying to tell you! She's already written most of the book- and she must be put right! She's making some... outrageous, preposterous claims! I immediately thought that you could talk to her about it... quietly, on the side, you know- before she thinks of actually publishing this nonsense. I thought she might listen to you- Head of the Ancient Artefacts Office..."  
  
"Right," Michael said slowly. "And, er- just what are these claims, if you wouldn't mind expanding...?"  
  
"It's disgusting!"  
  
"Nevertheless, Miss Hepburg- if I'm going to refute the claims, I need to know..."  
  
Rena sank down into her chair. "She's saying that- that Harry Potter was a..." here she leaned forward to Michael, and whispered reluctantly, "a homosexual."  
  
"Ah," said Michael. After a minute he added, "how interesting..."  
  
"We must stay together on this, Mr Thomas!" Rena exclaimed. "Us Older Generations have to put up a united front! You know I am a member of the Harry Potter Remembrance Society- and we are committed to recognising Harry Potter as he truly was- a real hero! We don't want his name tarnished!"  
  
"Well, does Miss Henderson have any actual proof to back up these claims?" Michael asked.  
  
"Apparently so," said Rena, looking less than pleased. "However, I am sure that it is all falsified..."  
  
"Well, Miss Hepburg- I'm not sure exactly what you want me to do on the matter- I really can't stop her from publishing her book..."  
  
"But you must!" said Rena forcefully. "Or I'll just have to find someone who will." She stood up. "I'm quite serious about this, Mr Thomas. We are prepared to go to the very top if that is what it takes. I trust you'll talk to the girl. Good day to you."  
  
With that, Miss Rena Hepburg swept out of the door.  
  
That morning, Roy Deayton got very, very quietly out of bed. He immediately stubbed his toe on a large book laid across the floor, and spent the next few moments hopping around, silently cursing. Then, dressed in his boxer shorts and vest, he opened the door of the room and limped as quietly as he could to the bathroom. Just as he reached it however, it opened itself and Will Self came bowling out, hitting him chest-to-chest.  
  
"Oh," said Will, not looking in the least surprised to see him, as well as covertly looking him up and down. "You stayed over, then."  
  
Roy immediately flushed. "Well. Um," he said.  
  
Will rolled his eyes. "Oh for God's sake, I'm not her mother," he said. "And you needn't look so embarrassed either. I'm not sure anybody's told you, Roy, but it's actually perfectly natural. I know that a certain young woman is wholly and incomprehensibly embarrassed about the whole idea of S- E-X but you needn't be. I'll bet she told you that I'll ask you endless questions and completely humiliate you, didn't she?"  
  
"Er..." Royal couldn't deny it.  
  
Will rolled his eyes again. "It's hard to believe she's actually 24," he said. "She's perfectly ridiculous. And I won't completely and utterly humiliate you, I promise. Come on, help me make some breakfast."  
  
About ten minutes later Iris emerged from her bedroom to find a sheepish- looking Roy sitting at the table, clutching a mug of tea. Will was cooking a mess of bacon, eggs and sausages in a pan.  
  
"Oh, don't look at me like that, Irie," said Will. "Now why don't you sit down. I'm sure you're both absolutely starving."  
  
Iris glared.  
  
"Roy," Michael Thomas stuck his head out of his office, nodding to the youngest member of his team. "I'd like to have a word with you, please."  
  
Roy jerked at the sound of his superior's voice, scattering papers onto the floor. He got up hurriedly, knocking his mug of tea into his bin.  
  
Michael made a mental note to remove everything remotely breakable from the office as soon as possible.  
  
"I had Miss Rena Hepburg in the office this morning, before you got in," Michael said, as Roy took a seat. Seeing Roy's puzzled look, he elaborated. "She's quite a prominent member of the Harry Potter Remembrance Society."  
  
"Oh yes," Roy said, his face clearing. "My mum donates to them."  
  
"Right," said Michael. "Well, she was kicking up quite a fuss. About Iris Henderson, and this book she's supposedly writing."  
  
Roy looked slightly alarmed. "But no-one's supposed to know about it yet- Iris hasn't even finished it!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Well, you know these people," Michael said. "They have their ways and means of finding out things. She actually wanted me to have a word with her, and when I explained I couldn't, she was really quite put out. I know you've been seeing quite a bit of Miss Henderson recently..."  
  
Roy blushed. Michael stifled a smile.  
  
"...so I just thought I'd give you a heads up."  
  
"Thank-you, sir," Roy said, rather shyly. "I'm, er- meeting her for lunch, actually. I'll let her know." He got up to go.  
  
"And Roy," Michael added. "Do get her to sign a copy for me when it's published. It sounds like an absolutely fascinating read."  
  
"What I'd like to know," Iris said, as they walked down the Council Building's corridors, "is how she found out anything about it at all."  
  
"Me too," Roy said. "It's very really strange..."  
  
"Iris!" a third voice called out.  
  
"Dad," Iris answered quickly, looking around. Her father Alan Henderson was walking towards them, a smile on his face. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Just popped up to ask Daniel Partridge if he'd like a spot of lunch, but he's a bit busy," Alan answered, gesturing towards the door marked Committee for Foreign Diplomacy. He was now looking at Roy, who was standing up very straight and tall, with a nervous smile on his face.  
  
"I don't believe we've been introduced," Alan added. He was tall and balding, with a kind face and the same dark blue eyes as his daughter.  
  
"Dad. Sorry. This is Royal Deayton," Iris said, as the two men shook hands. "Roy, this is my father, Alan."  
  
"Very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," Roy said ridiculously formally, pumping Mr Henderson's hand far too enthusiastically.  
  
Alan looked at Roy, eyes twinkling. Iris relaxed. It was quite obvious that Alan had realised immediately that Roy wasn't an evil boy hell bent on leading his daughter to ruin.  
  
"Don't look so worried, Roy," he said. "You look like you're about to face the Council. I don't know what Iris has been telling you..."  
  
"Oh!" exclaimed Roy, flushing. "Nothing, honestly Mr Henderson..."  
  
"...because what she should have told you," Alan went on relentlessly, "is that her mother's really the one you've got to look out for. I mean, the scowl on that woman alone..."  
  
Roy's smile of nervousness was now frozen solid on to his face. He not only looked unsure as to whether Mr Henderson was joking or not, but also just quite what he was getting himself into.  
  
"Dad!" Iris growled.  
  
"So what do you do, Roy?" asked Mr Henderson, as if he hadn't heard his daughter at all.  
  
"I work for the Ancient Artefacts Office..."  
  
"Ah yes, of course! I thought you looked a bit familiar. I'm sorry- my mind isn't what it used to be. You were in the paper with Iris a few months ago. Her mother's ever so proud. She's framed the article and everything. I'm in Internal Affairs, myself. Very boring. You don't mind if I join you for a bit to eat, do you?"  
  
"Oh no," said poor Roy, looking even more nervous than ever. "Of course not."  
  
The three of them walked through the Transportorium and found Diagon Alley, busy and bustling and warm in the early afternoon sunlight. They strolled along, chatting about what they'd like to eat when a voice interrupted their conversation.  
  
"Are you Iris Henderson?"  
  
"Yes, that's me," Iris said, looking around. A woman was standing there, glaring at her. She had very strange hair and an overlarge handbag.  
  
"I thought it was," she said. "I recognised you from your book sleeve. Not that I would ever buy the trash you write, of course!"  
  
"Er," said Iris.  
  
"I am Rena Hepburg," the woman continued, drawing herself up and pushing out her chest.  
  
"Ahh," Iris said. This was all making a lot more sense now.  
  
"I've heard all about you, Henderson!" Hepburg continued, her voice rising. "I know what you've been up to! And I will put a stop to it!"  
  
"Come on Iris," Roy muttered, tugging at her sleeve. "Let's just go."  
  
"Not until you hear what I have to say!" Hepburg screamed. "How dare you spread such malicious lies about such a great man! And how dare you write them down!"  
  
"To be fair, Madam," Alan Henderson put in, "they're not lies if they can be proven."  
  
"I don't want to hear such nonsense!" Hepburg screeched. Absolutely everybody was staring at them now.  
  
"Well, you won't have to hear such nonsense for much longer," Iris said, losing her temper. "Soon you'll be able to read it, and I'll send you a bloody free copy!"  
  
SMACK!  
  
Iris held a hand up to her smarting cheek, her mouth open in surprise. She could not believe she just been slapped, especially by such an old witch! Roy was now grappling with Hepburg, who kept trying to hit him over the head with her handbag. Since the bag was so large, she was being very successful. There was an expression of extremely real pain on Roy's face.  
  
"Oh, for Potter's sake," Alan snapped. He waved his wand hand at Hepburg. It must have been a paralysing spell, because she froze up immediately, her eyes furious slits. Roy stepped away from her, looking extremely grateful.  
  
"There," Alan said. "That'll keep you quiet. How dare you hit my daughter!"  
  
"And you'll see," Iris glared, still rubbing her cheek, "that the Lightning Letters don't lie."  
  
"Ow," she muttered, as she hurriedly walked away from the frozen woman. "That really hurt!"  
  
"It's so interesting that you get to handle the original copies of the Lightning Letters, Iris!" Alan said, when they were safely eating their lunch. He had always been interested in historical subjects, Iris knew.  
  
"Well, I'm sure you could look at them, if you came with me to the Hogarth Museum tomorrow afternoon," Iris said. "Both Roy and I are doing research there- they'd probably let you in. They've almost got used to me by now. And I'm not quite sure, but I think I've almost been forgiven for that article in the newspaper."  
  
"Excellent," Alan said, eyes twinkling.  
  
The following afternoon, Iris and Roy met Alan in the entrance hall of the Hogarth Museum. Alan looked very excited; he was beaming, brushed what was left of his hair very carefully and had put on his nicest tie.  
  
"Good afternoon," Iris said to the goblin on the desk, "just me again. As usual. You must be sick of me by now!" She smiled, hopefully winningly.  
  
The goblin did not look amused. Iris hastily turned the smile into a strangled cough.  
  
"Er, I booked to view the Lightning Letters today. Please. I would also like to bring my, ah- associate, Alan Henderson, in too."  
  
The goblin stared at her suspiciously, just as he had done every time she had come here for the last four months.  
  
Alan and Roy fidgeted.  
  
"I am afraid that is not possible, Miss," the goblin said. "The Lightning Letters have been... misplaced."  
  
"Misplaced!" Iris gaped. "But- they're the Lightning Letters!! How on earth could they have been misplaced?!"  
  
"That is what we are trying to ascertain," the goblin answered her, in a very deadpan manner.  
  
"Have you contacted the Ancient Artefacts Office?" Roy put in. "Or the Crimes Committee?"  
  
The goblin looked sour. "Not yet," he said. "We hoped they might have been incorrectly put away."  
  
Iris forgot that she was talking to a goblin. "These are the LIGHTNING LETTERS!" She yelled, angrily. "You should have contacted someone right away!"  
  
"When we are sure they are not on the premises..."  
  
"Oh, for Potter's sake," Iris snapped. She stuck a hand across the desk, and grabbed the Museum's ledger book. "Let's see who came in recently, that's a start..."  
  
Her eyes immediately strayed to one name, from the previous afternoon:  
  
3.45pm: Miss Rena Hepburg. 46, Woodyates Court.  
  
"Ooh! That horrible woman!" Iris hissed. "She knows that if I don't have the original letters to back up my research, there's no solid evidence at all! She's going to try and discredit me! And she wasn't even clever enough to cover her tracks! We're going over there right now!"  
  
"Iris, perhaps we should wait a moment," Alan said. "Call up someone official, like it's been suggested. We can't go charging in there..."  
  
"We have to, Mr Henderson!" cried Roy. "Every moment we waste could be a moment more she's got to destroy the Lightning Letters!"  
  
Both of them rushed out of the Museum, Alan hot on their heels.  
  
"Contact the Committees!" Iris called over her shoulder to the goblin. "Contact all the Departments! Contact everyone!!"  
  
After hastily consulting a map, all three of them appeared outside Woodyates Court. Iris looked up at number 46, her eyes narrowed. Then she raced up the steps, intent on banging on the door.  
  
But it was already halfway open.  
  
"Hepburg?" Iris yelled, swinging the door open. "I have to talk to you!"  
  
Suddenly she gasped, taking a step backwards.  
  
There was a body on the floor, and Iris would recognise that hair anywhere.  
  
It was Rena Hepburg.  
  
END OF PART 1.


	2. II

The Lightning Letters II: Internal Affairs, Part 2.  
  
"Well," said Roy, an unhappy look stretched across his face. "I think the first thing to do is- is to see if she's actually passed away."  
  
Iris looked at Roy expectantly, but he didn't seem to be moving.  
  
"Let me," Alan said, purposefully. He strode towards the body. Then he quickly kicked Hepburg's leg with his foot.  
  
"Well," he said. "She's definitely dead."  
  
"DAD!" Iris hissed, utterly mortified. This was worse than the time she had brought Richard Scarsborough home (against her better judgement) and he had climbed out of the kitchen window in an attempt to run away from her parents, the insinuating questions and her mother's home-made magical banana cake.  
  
"Well, first things first, we'd better contact both the Crimes Committee, as well as the Muggle police," Mr Henderson said.  
  
"But Dad!" Iris exclaimed. "She was still a member of the magical community... shouldn't we just deal with it ourselves?"  
  
"Iris," Alan said. "I hate to break it to you like this, but Muggles are ever so much better at this sort of thing. They have these machines, all this equipment! They do something with a thing called NDA and find the perpetrator in ten minutes flat! Whereas we... well, take away any magical ability, and most of us wouldn't be able to find our way out of a paper bag."  
  
"I would!" said Iris, hotly.  
  
"Yes dear," Alan said, in a tone that, until this moment, had been reserved exclusively for his wife.  
  
"But... what if they find something... untoward? Something that can't be explained?" Roy asked.  
  
"Oh, they know all about everything already," said Mr Henderson. "At least, the high-up policemen do. They just do us a kindness and pretend not to. It's very sweet of them, really. On top of that, you really do get a terrible headache if you're Obliviated too many times. I suppose they get sick of it after a while, and pretend not to notice things."  
  
Iris gaped.  
  
"No, they'll send a person or two over from the Crimes Committee to liase, but you mark my words, it'll be the Muggles who solve it."  
  
Detective Spencer was a short, burly man in his mid-fifties, with a very world-weary expression and a South London accent.  
  
"Right," he said, as he entered. "What do we have here then?"  
  
"A dead body," Alan supplied helpfully.  
  
"She's- well, she was- Rena Hepburg," Iris said.  
  
"Did you know her?"  
  
"Oh no, not really... that is to say, we'd only met yesterday. But we thought she'd- she'd taken something from a museum I work at, and so we came round to confront her. Only... well, she was dead."  
  
"Hmmm," Detective Spencer said, giving Iris a sharp look. "And you had nothing to do with her death, is that right?"  
  
"Oh no!" Iris exclaimed, horrified. "Of course not!"  
  
"Er... I didn't either," Roy said.  
  
"Nor me," Alan chipped in helpfully.  
  
Detective Spencer rolled his eyes slightly. "Alright," he said. He reached into pocket and brought out a small square thing Iris knew was a 'puter. "I need to take your names and addresses, please."  
  
Just then however, two wizards, both slightly out of breath, appeared with a pop in the middle of the living room.  
  
Detective Spencer blinked. Everybody looked at him, frozen.  
  
"Oh," he said. "It's one of those, is it. Just keep your hands to yourself, you lot. I ain't seen nothing and it's going to stay that way, all right? My head's been messed up quite enough already today, thank-you very much. Now, I've got quite a few questions to get through. The quicker we start, the quicker we end."  
  
Despite apparently starting quickly, the questions went on for some time. Iris, Roy and Mr Henderson were asked over and over about their reasons for being there, and what exactly was their relationship was to the dead woman. Detective Spencer produced another 'strange looking machine thing' (as Will would have called it) and passed it over the body. Apparently, it said, Hepburg had died sometime in the last four hours. As Iris remarked later, it was just like magic. When this was ascertained, they were all asked what they had been doing that morning. It was quite obvious that the Muggle policeman was very suspicious of them, and the Crimes Committee personnel much less so. They had obviously heard of Iris and seemed much more willing to cut them all some slack. After some whispering in the corner between both Detective Spencer and the Committee representatives, they were told that they would not need to come to the station. Detective Spencer looked rather put out by this, but he grudgingly took a scraping of skin from each of them and told them not to leave the country any time soon.  
  
When Iris finally got back to her flat, she was absolutely exhausted. Mr Henderson and Will tried to cheer her up, but it wasn't working. She hadn't really known Rena Hepburg, and didn't think she was at all pleasant, but she was really very shocked that she was dead. It had obviously been a murder, and Iris hadn't heard of such a crime being committed in the Magical community for years.  
  
On top of this, although she felt slightly guilty for thinking it, she knew that her book, and all her research was no good now. She was quite positive that Hepburg had stolen the Lightning Letters. Such a crime involving such artefacts was really quite inconceivable, as everything from the Dark Age was always treated with such reverence. Most of the basis of her research had come from performing different spells on the letters. Without them, nothing could be proven. The Crimes Committee had told her they were investigating the theft, but she could see from their faces that they didn't hold out much hope of recovering them. She still planned to go the Museum the next day however, to see what was going on.  
  
"Well, at least they can't try to pin the murder on any of us," Alan said to her, breezily. "Will can vouch for you, Iris, and both Roy and I were at work."  
  
"Yes," Iris muttered. "But that's not much of a consolation, really."  
  
"Good evening, Miss Henderson." There were two men on her doorstep. "I'm Lawrence Smith, from the Crimes Committee. This is my associate, Daniel Partridge. May we come in?"  
  
"Of course," Iris said, slightly flustered. She glanced at Daniel Partridge; there was something familiar about him, somehow. She opened the door wider to admit them. "Royal Deayton is here too, if you need to speak to him."  
  
"That's very helpful," Smith said. He followed Iris into the living room, where Roy was sitting. "This is just an informal visit to tell both of you that you've both been officially removed from the Suspects list. As has your father, Miss Henderson. All of your alibis check out, and the Muggle police didn't find signs of any of you on the victim's body."  
  
"That's a relief," Iris said, and Roy nodded in agreement. "But do you have any fresh leads?"  
  
"I'm afraid not," Smith said. "It is quite obvious that the victim was strangled, but it certainly wasn't done magically. The marks around her neck could almost be seen to be fingers, but they're much too long really. Both the Committee and the Muggles are favouring some kind of rope, at the moment. I'm certain you'll be kept up to date if any progress is made."  
  
"If you think of anything else," added Daniel Patridge, "here's my card. Please don't hesitate to get in touch."  
  
Iris looked at the card. It was round and read 'Daniel Partridge: Crimes Committee, Room 711.' This finally jogged her memory.  
  
"Daniel Partridge... I thought I recognised the name!" Iris said. "My father's mentioned you." Then she frowned. "But I thought- I thought you worked on the Committee for Foreign Diplomacy."  
  
"Indeed I did, Miss Henderson," the man said, looking faintly puzzled at her question. "But I was recruited to the Crimes Committee several months ago. Do tell your father to get in touch with me. I haven't seen him ages. We've both been too busy, I'd imagine!"  
  
Iris's stomach dropped. "Yes," she said, hollowly. "Yes, of course I will."  
  
The two men nodded, and Roy jumped up to show them out, giving Iris a worried glance. Iris felt frozen. She fell back onto the sofa, and sat there.  
  
"Whatever's the matter?" Roy asked, as he came back into the room.  
  
"When we met my father the other day, he said he was going for lunch with Daniel Partridge, didn't he?" Iris said. "But he couldn't have done- because my father was at the Committee for Foreign Diplomacy Offices, where Partridge hasn't worked for ages."  
  
"That's right," Roy said, his brow furrowing. "But- Partridge said that he used to work there, and he knew your father who he hasn't seen for months... that's an easy mistake to make!"  
  
"No," Iris said, thinking hard. "He said he'd talked to Partridge, but that Partridge was too busy for lunch... dad was lying."  
  
"But Iris..."  
  
"...And when Hepburg accosted me on the street," Iris continued, "Dad said, didn't he, that they weren't lies if they could be proven. And then he asked me about seeing the Lightning Letters. But he didn't even know what she was talking about! I hadn't even told him about my research... but someone else obviously did." She stood up, furious. "How could I have been so stupid? I'm going to see him, right now!"  
  
"Iris, wait..."  
  
But with a pop, Iris was gone.  
  
When Iris arrived at her house, she found her father in the kitchen, tinkering about with bits of china. She actually felt sick. How could her father, this cheery, ordinary man- how could he be an entirely different person?  
  
Alan sensed her presence, and turned round, a tea cup in one hand.  
  
"Iris!" he said. "This is a surprise. It's lovely to see you."  
  
"Partridge doesn't work at the Foreign Diplomacy Committee any more," Iris said, trembling very slightly. Her hands were bunched up in fists. "He moved to the Crimes Committee three months ago."  
  
"Ah," said Alan, quietly. There was a silence, as he slowly put down the cup. Then he said, "they haven't updated his file. Sloppy, very sloppy. Or perhaps it was just me. Perhaps my mind isn't what it used to be, after all."  
  
"You knew who Roy was the moment you got there, didn't you?" Iris whispered. "What you said to Hepburg when she slapped me- you knew all about my research, and I know I hadn't told you about it... you're a spy."  
  
Alan opened his mouth to speak, but Iris rushed ahead.  
  
"This isn't the first time, is it?" she asked. "Have you been doing this all your life, Dad? Is this is your bloody job?!"  
  
Alan hesitated a moment too long in answering. That was all Iris needed.  
  
"Does mum know?" she asked.  
  
"Oh yes," said Alan. "Or at least, I believe she does. We've never talked about it." A half-smile crossed his face. "She's a good woman, your mother."  
  
"So you've only been lying to me my whole life!" Iris yelled. "That makes it fine, then!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Iris," Alan said. "I know you feel- betrayed. But I wasn't allowed to tell you- I wasn't allowed to tell anyone! It was to keep you safe, more than anything, darling." He took a step towards her.  
  
Iris stumbled backwards, before finally plucking up the courage to ask the question she knew she had to, but was dreading. "Did you kill her?" she whispered, her voice wavering out of control.  
  
"No," said Alan, forcefully. "No, Iris. I was just sent in to scout out the territory, so to speak. I was the perfect choice- I could get close to you with out raising suspicions."  
  
"But why?!" Iris wailed. "I don't understand!"  
  
Alan sighed. "You don't realise how important your find is, do you?" he said. "Do you actually realise what this means, for all of us? We've built this society up again after the Dark Ages and it's taken us this damn long to recover. Before you were born, when I was a child- it was still such a mess, even then. But we've managed it, and do you know how? All our hard work, all our grit has been based almost solely on the examples set during the Second Uprising. We said to each other, if they can do it, so can we. Now granted, I know we may have our faults. But we are still here, after everything the Dark has thrown at us. We've survived a basic genocide through those damn blood curses, Iris. There are some things we do need to sort out, yes. The almost perpetual state of suspicion, for one. Not to mention the homophobic atmosphere. You know I don't agree with it, Iris- but it's made us stay. It's stopped another Dark wizard or witch from rising. And we are prepared this time, because we can never go back to that. And now you're going to come along and say that not only was the most famous Dark Ages hero gay, but so was the author of the Lightning Letters? Do you know just how many very important people you are going to anger? Hepburg was just the tip of the iceberg."  
  
"I-" Iris's head was spinning. Then she swallowed, eyes flashing. "You're right. I didn't understand that, Dad. But even after what you just told me... I don't care. I'm publishing the book and no-one's going to stop me."  
  
"Of course you are," said Alan, fondly. His voice sounded strained. "You're my daughter, after all."  
  
Iris looked away from him. "I need some time," she said, walking towards the exit. Alan looked stricken, so she reached forward and grasped his hand. "But we'll be alright Dad. In a while, anyway."  
  
She walked out the door.  
  
"I can't believe," Iris said, "that my father is an undercover spy."  
  
"Well," said Roy. "It wouldn't jump directly to mind as his occupation, no."  
  
Iris laughed. It was several hours later and the weight in her stomach seemed to have lessened, slightly. She sighed. "Nothing I thought was true is," she said. "I never actually realised how naïve I was until now. I'm also wondering what else I've got wrong."  
  
"There's one thing," Roy said slowly, kissing the top of her head. "That wouldn't be wrong at all. Would you- would you consider, at all, marrying me?"  
  
Iris snorted. "You're so old-fashioned!" She looked up, resting her chin against his chest. "And why should I marry you?" she asked, teasingly.  
  
"Er," Roy said. "I would have thought that was quite obvious. Because I love you, of course!"  
  
"Really?" Iris murmured. "Because I love you too, you know."  
  
"Well," said Roy, a huge grin breaking across his face. "If that's settled..."  
  
"But we should do the normal old moving in together thing first," Iris interrupted. "Then I'll be able to see if you wash your socks. Then we can talk about marriage."  
  
"Yes dear," said Roy.  
  
"Hello, Miss Henderson," the goblin on the front desk greeted her. Iris raised an eyebrow. He was being very polite today.  
  
This was not normal.  
  
"I expect you've come to view the Lightning Letters," he continued.  
  
"No... I mean yes, but- are you telling me that you've got the Lightning Letters back?" Iris said, incredibly surprised. "But- I thought someone had taken them from Rena Hepburg's house..."  
  
"Oh no, miss," said the goblin. "It was very curious, but they just turned up here earlier this morning, safe and sound. The thief obviously had a conscience."  
  
"But why on earth..." Iris muttered, baffled. "I mean, this is very good for me, and my research, of course- but it still makes absolutely no sense at all!"  
  
"Best not to question these things, miss," said the goblin. "Best to put it all out of your head."  
  
But Iris had a niggling thought, right in the back of her mind. Her gaze strayed down almost involuntarily to the goblin's hand, which was resting on the desk.  
  
To his very long, very strong fingers.  
  
Which, to the best of her knowledge, did not have any fingerprints.  
  
Iris tore her eyes away as quickly as she could, looking back up. The goblin was staring right at her.  
  
"Um," said Iris.  
  
"This is the kind of thing," the goblin said, still staring unblinkingly, "that just cannot be tolerated. Stealing. Especially from the Hogarth Museum. Miss Hepburg was a foolish woman."  
  
"Oh," said Iris, desperately. "I'm sure she was."  
  
"It was rather a blessing to us that something happened to her," he continued. "Figuratively speaking, of course. The honour of not only the Hogarth Museum, but also of the entire race of goblins was at stake, you understand. Although it was a very bad business, of course. It is just interesting that the authorities will never be able to solve this- unfortunate murder."  
  
"Won't they?" Iris asked.  
  
"Oh no," said the goblin. "Of course they won't. Never. Ever."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Yes," continued the goblin, breezily. "A rather nasty woman, by all accounts. But a young lady such as yourself, Miss Henderson, of 22a Birks Grove, London, is an entirely different matter altogether. You respect the Museum. You respect its artefacts."  
  
"Oh yes," said Iris. "I certainly do. Yes, indeed."  
  
"We have been watching you. You understand the sanctity of this place. You are polite."  
  
"Am I?" asked Iris, dazedly.  
  
"Of course," said the goblin. He opened a drawer in the desk, and pulled out a stiff piece of paper with a flourish. "Which is why we have come to the decision that you have earned the right to have a Gold Pass. The Museum's wards will be changed to include your magical signature. You will able to enter and exit the museum whenever you wish, without having to sign in. That's how much faith we have in you, Miss Henderson. You are part of the Hogarth Museum's family now. We will always be looking out for you. There are hundreds of us. So really, day and night."  
  
"Well," said Iris, edging towards the door. "That's really very nice of you, but I've really got to go now, and..."  
  
"Day. And. Night," said the goblin.  
  
"Yes," said Iris. "I quite understand. I'll just be leaving..." She stumbled towards the exit.  
  
"Miss Henderson!" the goblin called after her.  
  
Iris froze, then turned round very reluctantly.  
  
"Don't forget your Gold Pass Certificate," he said.  
  
When Iris finally made it out into the street, she realised that she was going to have to tell Roy that the goblins did it. Which they could never tell anyone. Ever. And also, if he saw any strange-looking people with long fingers staring at them from behind corners, he needn't to be too alarmed.  
  
"Hello," Iris said. "It's Iris Henderson."  
  
Iris hesitated, then continued. "I just wanted to let you know- my book is being published tomorrow," She walked nearer, unsure. "Now everyone will know about you, and Harry, and those wonderful letters you wrote to him. I'm sure you'll be getting many more visitors soon. Other than me, I mean."  
  
Draco Malfoy did not move. He would not even look at her, and he had been doing that before, the last few times she had come, even if he would not speak. Then Iris suddenly realised, and it was like a lead weight hitting her in the stomach.  
  
"You don't care, do you?" she said. "I'm sorry- I'm so stupid. You've had 800 years to think it over. Running over and over in your head."  
  
The portrait did not answer.  
  
"And you couldn't waste away. You just couldn't die, like you did in real life. And now there's going to be more people, people who don't understand, and they're going to ask you again and again, about everything, and you won't ever be able to escape it."  
  
A slight flicker of his eyelids.  
  
"Do you..." Iris began, slowly. "Do you want it to be over? I would- I'd do it, for you. I wouldn't mind what happened. I'll do something, if you like."  
  
There was a pause. A very long one. Then-  
  
"Yes," the voice was as cracked as the varnish on the paint, so out of use had it become. "Do it. Burn me... burn me."  
  
Iris swallowed. After a moment, she brought up a trembling wand hand and lifted the portrait off its hook, until it was hovering next to her. She looked at Draco Malfoy. His eyes were closed.  
  
A second later, and he had burst into flames.  
  
Iris was not surprised to find that she was crying. Her gasping sobs echoed, melancholy, in the quiet, confined chamber. She rushed forward and flung open a window, bringing in the breeze, and the light.  
  
And the portrait's ashes were lost to the earth, and the air, and the trees.  
  
THE LIGHTNING LETTERS  
By Iris Henderson  
  
Dedicated to the following:  
  
Will, for giving me a clue  
  
Roy, because I love you  
  
The Goblins of the Hogarth Museum, my new extended family  
  
AND  
  
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, for trying, as, best they could.  
  
THE END. 


End file.
